Damn the Fates

Here's a quick piece in response to the "lopsided inspirations" prompt from Master Class this week.  Let me know what you think and be sure to check out other responses through the button below as well!

                “Damn the Fates,” he muttered as he labored up the hill, “So many good ideas and no ability to write them down.”

                “Aleron!  Stop your dawdling.  I do not want to be late.”

                “Yes, my lady,” teeth gritted he tried to speed his pace.  It wasn’t much, but Lady Torellani seemed satisfied.

                Arriving at the ancient mansion, he dropped the poles of the rickshaw and hurried to lower the step for Lady Torellani.  It didn’t matter how fast he was; she still gave him that icy glare as if she’d been waiting an eternity for him.  He held his hand out to assist her, but she swept past him.  Even the rustle of the copious layers of silk in her dress seemed to whisper condemnations.

                As Aleron watched Lady Torellani enter the mansion, he moved back the front of the rickshaw to pull it off the street.  Maybe he’d finally have a chance to write about the ideas in his head.  Inventions.  Poetry.  Epics.  Art.  So much inspiration.  It was all there roiling in his mind until he felt he may go mad from the turmoil.

                Reaching the stable, Aleron set the rickshaw down.  He dug in his pockets for the scraps of paper and pencil he kept there in the vain hope he’d have a chance to use them.

                “Aleron?”

                Sighing, Aleron looked up, “Yes?”

                “Lady Torellani wished you to address several tasks while you wait.  Here is the list.”

                He took the list from the serving man and almost choked.  The duties she assigned would surely take him all day.  Even then, he felt uncertain about accomplishing them all before she would want to return home.  Feeling tears welling, he left the courtyard.  It wouldn’t do to have the servants of the house see his weakness.  It would get back to Lady Torellani and that would be dangerous.

Phoenix

Write on Edge gave us a prompt around the word phoenix.  We could use either the mythical creature definition or the definition involving the constellation.  We had 450 words in which to write our prompt.

Now, I have to be honest.  My first impulse was to write a scene from a longer piece I've been working on and posting bits of as this prompt fit so perfectly into the storyline.  But that would give the ending away and I didn't want to do that.  Instead, here's something else that randomly showed up in my mind.  Please enjoy and don't forget - you have until the end of the night tonight to link up with the Don't Panic Picture Prompt for the week!

From the Flames I will be Reborn

From the Ashes I will Rise

In Flame I will Rule

In Ash I will Rebuild

The old storyteller’s words ran through his mind again even as the vicious kiss of the whip bit into his back.  It was so hard not to be bitter.  He tried but often failed.  She’d promised not to leave him.  She’d promised to right what had gone so horribly wrong in the land.  Then she was gone, her promises broken.  The storyteller insisted the words were a prophecy, that she would return.  He’d been hearing them since that day so many years ago.

“When?” he mumbled through cracked and bloody lips, “If it’s true, when are you coming back?”

The whip fell again.  There was no point in screaming out his pain or begging for mercy.  It didn’t matter to them.  They just continued to beat him regardless of his reaction.  That was the Overlord’s command and they followed it.

The twentieth stroke fell, curling around his back in a fiery embrace.  Just as they had every week, the soldiers curled up the whip and hung it on a peg over his head.  His chains prevented him from reaching it.  But the Overlord left it there as a reminder of his choice.

A choice to remain loyal to a woman who’s been dead for years.  A woman who, he kept telling himself didn’t deserve that kind of commitment.  She’d broken hers.  Why was he still faithful to his?

In that same ritualistic pattern, his heart reminded him of the answer once again.  He kept that faith in her because he loved her.  It was that simple.  No matter how long it had been, his heart still believed in the storyteller’s words.

A break in the years old macabre dance came that night.  He heard shouts and booted feet running outside the cell that had become his world.  Straining to make out words above the noise of the confusion, he could hear something about a fire.  Or was it many fires?

He didn’t have to wait long to find out.  The heat from the flame penetrated the cold hard stone walls to warm his frigid cell.  Soon it rolled in unseen waves down the corridors, heating rock enough to blister.  Still he sat, chained, in his prison.

Then came the flame, licking and lapping at wood and rock alike.  It shimmered in a mesmerizing dance down the hall, closer and closer.  Out of the fire wavered an image of a woman.  He scrubbed his eyes with heat blistered hands.  Had she really come back?  Was that heat mirage really her?

It couldn’t be.  But it was.

Words Left Unsaid

While we had 500 words to show a scene involving a hand written letter from Write On Edge this week, I found I didn't need it.  The scene I had pictured in my head once again comes from a significantly longer piece I'm working on.  but I found it didn't need that generous of a word count.  Other pieces can be found here, here and here.  Here it is - let me know what you think!

Tyrhan pulled out a folded piece of parchment from his belt pouch.  It was dirtier than when he’d first gotten it.  A bit more tattered around the edges too.

He caressed it for a while before opening it once more.  He didn’t really need to read it anymore to know what it said.  The words were etched not only into his memory but into his heart.  They’d become scars there.  Burning, aching with every beat.  Regrets washed through him hard on the heels of those piercing heartbeats.  There were so many things he should have said.

Drawing a deep breath, Tyrhan looked at the even, elegant script on the page.  Even now he could picture her sitting there in the dim campfire light penning each word with care.  The others had each gotten short notes from her, but his was by far the longest.

Her words tried to explain to him why things ended up the way they did.  Tyrhan found he didn’t care.  She was gone and that was what mattered.  That hurt the most.  Saylen’s belief Tyrhan had done all he could wasn’t something Tyrhan could share.  Afterall, what was the use of being a Guardian if he couldn’t keep the one thing he’d dedicated his entire life to safe?

He studied those words, just as he had a hundred times or more in the week since he’d gotten the letter.  Each time he hoped he could find some peace, some answer he’d missed before.  Tyrhan never did.

All he ever found was the same anguish and loss.  Those three words at the end were the most brutal of all.  They were a knife buried so deep in his heart it’d never come out.  That one sentence reminded him of everything that could have been.  Everything he’d wanted but was too afraid to go after.  And now it was too late.  She was gone.

And all he had left was a tear smudged letter and a crystallized rose pendant.


I am hoping (eventually) to have the entire finished work published on Smashwords.com.  I'll let ya'll know when it is.

Also, don't forget - you have until the end of the day today to link up with the Don't Panic Picture Prompt #3.

The Secret

I have to say I loved the Robert Frost poem from the Write on Edge prompt this week.  That being said, I struggled with this scene quite a bit.  I know what I'm trying to convey, but any concrit would be helpful.  I'm not sure yet this scene will actually  make it into the final draft of the fantasy piece I'm working on, but it's still an important scene for me to have cemented in my head.  Other pieces of this story can be found here and here.

Mesara glanced around as they rode into the foothills.  She thought Inshaya might suspect something.  The rest of them didn’t seem to sense her intention.  Certainly not Tyrhan.  Mesara felt bad for that.  But she knew if she told them what needed to happen, they would never let her do it.  And if she didn’t do what she needed to, Amnor would win and the world as they knew it would be forever changed.

The trouble was she didn’t want to finish what had been started anymore than they did.  It had taken her all of these long months to come to terms with who she was, what had happened to her, and, most important, her feelings for Tyrhan.  But she knew she had no choice.  She wouldn’t sacrifice everything and everyone she loved for her own fears and selfishness.

In camp that night, she sat off to the side.  One by one Meathar, Tyrhan and the others tried to engage her in their jokes and conversation.  But it didn’t feel right.  Mesara knew if she started to talk to them, the secret would come out.  She couldn’t risk that.  So she kept her distance.  Laris was her only comfort.

The cat caught her gaze.  His strength, encouragement and love flooded through her in wave after wave of images.  There was something in his message to her that reassured her more than her other companions could.  A sense of peace filled her just before Laris got up and wandered away.  Something in what he tried to tell her made her believe everything would be alright in the end.  She lay down to sleep, easy for the first time on that long ride north.

Mesara savored that last ride to their goal.  Meathar lead the way.  She did not doubt he was just as drawn to the end as she was.  She was saddened by his confidence in some ways.  This ending would destroy it just as much as it would destroy the threat to all of Mharakhan.  She hoped her father, Karik and Inshaya would help see her brother through the next few months.

Glancing over at Tyrhan, Mesara knew there was no such hope for the elf.  She’d known how he felt about her for quite a while now.  And she knew how deep his emotions ran despite what he let show.  There would be no such comfort for him.  It was that simple fact that she struggled with the most.  That one thing was almost enough to convince her to turn her horse south and flee her fate.

Almost.

Aftermath

This is the rough idea of where the fantasy story I posted on Sunday is headed.  While the story isn't finished yet, I've had the ending in my head for quite a while.  The Don't Panic Picture Prompt this week became a possible setting for this scene which, in the larger story, would play a significant role.  Let me know what you think!

Tyrhan stood on the old dock at Resan Lake, those last few days replaying in his head over and over.  The battle with Amnor was over.  His dark reign was crushed once more.  The Renashi were turned back.  But none of that mattered.

The foggy beauty of the lush trees surrounding the lake didn’t even register.  He’d failed.  Tyrhan promised Saylen he’d bring the man’s daughter home.  And she was gone.

Tyrhan understood Mesara’s task was dangerous.  It never crossed his mind that he’d lose her.  She’d become the Wildrose.  It had been his duty to protect and serve her as a Guardian.  And he failed.

Laris rubbed his head against Tyrhan’s hip.  Tyrhan absentmindedly scratched the cat’s ears.  After a few moments, Laris butted his leg several times.  Tyrhan knelt down to meet the thar’s gaze, tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, my friend.  She’s gone,” he whispered.

Images flashed through Tyrhan’s head.  He knew Laris was trying to tell him something but the scenes weren’t clear.  Sighing, Tyrhan got up to stare out at the lake again.  He heard footsteps on the dock behind him.

“Tyrhan.  This isn’t your fault.”

“How can you of all people say that?” bitterness welled up in Tyrhan’s voice.

“Because I’m her father I can.  I may have missed most of her life, but I knew the kind of person Mesara was.  This was her role, her duty.  She wouldn’t have shirked that.  Certainly not if it meant saving the lives of those she loved.”

That one word triggered the most crushing memory of that day.  Closing his eyes, Tyrhan could see her in the cave.  She’d glanced once at him, mouthed to him the words he’d longed for.

I love you.

Then she dropped her sword and let Amnor run her through.

Crossing An Old Line

When I read the prompt about taboo from Write On Edge, I actually came up with two different scenes.  The first is the one I posted on Friday.  The second is a scene from a longer piece I'm still working on.  After thinking about it some, I decided I'd post the second one here since it would have blown the word count all to pieces and I couldn't figure out how to cut it down.

Here it is.  Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

 “We cannot allow you access to the Wildrose.  It is our most guarded treasure.  No stranger has looked upon it.  We cannot allow that to be violated,” decreed Lord Karna.

“Try and stop me,” Mesara spun on her heels and left the council chambers.

The guards at the door were too stunned at her behavior to even put up a token protest.  Tyrhan stood for a moment letting Mesara’s words sink in with the council.

“Lady, Lords.  I ask you to tread lightly here.  I am a Guardian.  I serve the Wildrose first.  I can verify what Lady Mesara has said.  The Wildrose has called her and given her instructions on a number of occasions already.  It would be unwise to attempt to bar Mesara from answering that call.”

“That is enough fairy tales and make believe, Lord Tyrhan!  As the chair of this council I am ordering you to follow this command.  You will bar that child from the Wildrose.  You will, under no circumstances, allow anyone not sanctioned by this council into that garden.  Am I clear?” presumption was thick in Lady Risa’s voice.

“As I said, Lady Risa, I serve the Wildrose first.  The first elven council decreed that when a council directive conflicts with the desires of the Wildrose, a Guardian must first serve the Wildrose.  Only once her wishes are met can a Guardian attempt to follow council directive.”

“She is a half-breed child.  She has no business with the Wildrose.  I don’t care what any prior council said.  You will follow my orders!” Lady Risa was almost shouting at this point.

Tyrhan stood, fists clenched, teeth gritted for several seconds before responding softly, “Lady Risa, it is unbecoming of the chair of this council to behave this way, particularly toward your own granddaughter.  As a Guardian, I speak for the Wildrose.  She has called your granddaughter.  I know part of why it was your granddaughter who was chosen.  Lady Mesara has the Earth Magick.  It is strong with her, stronger than anyone in living memory and, perhaps, stronger than any who have ever possessed it.  It is the Magick that has forged a connection between Mesara and the Wildrose.  There is nothing in all of Mharakhan that will stop the Wildrose from bringing Mesara to her.  Do not interfere.  I would hate to be forced to choose between my service to the Wildrose and my service to this council, for I know which one I would give up without another thought.”

He left the council chamber in a graceful, controlled, cold fury.  He couldn’t believe Lady Risa was still as blind now as she was with Kierana and Saylen.  He went to find Mesara to make sure she was alright.  He heard shouting behind him but that didn’t matter to him at that moment.  Tyrhan would live to regret not stopping to listen to what was being said.

He went directly to the Garden of the Wildrose but she wasn’t there.  Tyrhan went back to check her rooms.  There, a serving woman told him he just missed her and that she was headed toward the garden the last she saw.  As Tyrhan left the guest quarters, Laris sprinted by him.  Tyrhan followed the cat at a dead run as well, but, unlike the mountain thar, Tyrhan stopped short at the outer edge of the garden.  He could see several bodies wrapped tightly in the branches of the holly bushes that marked the border to the garden.  Droplets of blood splashed the grass near their feet.  Emerald green branches waived like feelers looking for bodies to grab.  Farther in, he saw Lady Risa and the serving woman, Darienne, caught fast by the grass which had grown to almost completely envelop them.  Mesara was kneeling next to the Wildrose while Laris settled in on her other side.  He could almost see the Magick swirling about her it was so strong.

One more reminder - the Don't Panic Picture Prompt #2 is up.  Check it out and stop back Wednesday to link up!